A dense fog enveloped Brooklyn last night

001The crunch of gravel underfoot; incline. Sun coming in low and glaring off every harbor-facing pane of the buildings on the other side of the park. Cold. Empty playground today, and no leaves remain on the trees.  I can see the harbor through the naked branches and the shining points of the city beyond neighboring rooftops out the kitchen windows.

A pigeon jaunts his way across the payment.
002
003
I saw the park pristine in late morning; no boots had trod to mar the blank white field. It’s nearly the solstice, then the days will edge toward longer ones again. I’ve put the bike up for the season.

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